blow thou winter wind
by Graffiti My Soul
Summary: Winter in Kirkwall is an interesting time for all its inhabitants. Fenris gets sleepy. Hawke misses Ferelden. Varric tells Merrill no, he's not interested in snow angels, but perhaps Aveline is. You know, that sort of thing.  Drabble/oneshot collection.
1. of strawberries

**blow thou winter wind**

Winter in Kirkwall is an interesting time for all its inhabitants. Fenris gets sleepy. Hawke misses Ferelden. Varric tells Merrill no, he's not interested in snow angels, but perhaps Aveline is. That sort of thing.

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><p><strong>i. of strawberries<strong>

"_Fenrisss!"_

The elf shook himself awake at the sound of his name being called. He had fallen asleep in Hawke's study, the book he'd been working through still open on his lap. Hawke's voice came from downstairs, loud but without the note of fear that would have made him rush to her aid. Instead, he had to force himself to rise from the soft chair and wander his way to the kitchens, patting down his tousled white hair as he walked. If he didn't know the estate so well, he might have tripped - the house was almost pitch black in the night.

"Asteria?" His voice was hoarse from sleep, and warm spot before the lit fireplace looked ridiculously appealing. The mage glanced up from the counter, looking vaguely sheepish with a flush on her cheeks. Her hands were wrapped around a small jar tied off with a plaid ribbon – preserves of some sort – and her fingertips were red and raw looking. "What's wrong?"

"I –" She flushed harder, and then shoved the jar towards him. "It won't open, and I've been trying for _ages-"_

Fenris twisted the cap with an idle flick of his wrist, eyes still bleary.

_Pop._

Hawke stared at him open-mouthed while Fenris stilled the urge to yawn. Used to the heat and humidity of Seheron and the Imperium, the winters in Kirkwall tended to leave him more tired than usual. Asteria usually found it adorable, much to his irritation. At the moment, the angry pout on her face was, Fenris admitted, rather cute. She'd probably freeze him solid if he said so.

"It is not my fault that you are so...delicate," he teased, a faint smile on his lips. Hawke made a small growling noise as she snatched the jar of strawberry jam back.

"I am not delicate! You're just too bloody...Stupid warriors and your stupid _muscles_, if it's not you it was Carver..." She stuck her finger into the jar and then stuck it into her mouth, pouting around it. "It's a Ferelden thing I think- winter means preserves. Mother used to make them every year but..." Her voice trailed off, and she swiped her finger through the jam again to hide her pause.

The warrior frowned slightly, still sleepy but aware enough to know that letting Asteria continue with that train of thought was _bad_. The warmth of Hawke's bedroom seemed more and more promising with each passing moment, and so Fenris took his mage by the arm and pulled her towards the stairs. "I will open all the jars you ever want if we can go back to bed," he told her.

Hawke's face broke into a small, shocked smile (_ever?_), and she tilted her head up to kiss him softly. She tasted mostly like vanilla, but now there was the sweet undertone of fruit. He licked his lips when they parted.

"I'll hold you to that. Come on sleepyhead, let's go up."

* * *

><p>Short, fluffy fill of Asteria and Fenris, filled for the following (abridged) prompt on the DA kink meme:<p>

_"Okay so, no matter how powerful a mage she is, Hawke is still not going to be as strong as Fenris physically. I would really, really like to see Fenris take advantage of that some way. Nothing non con. Maybe Hawke gets irritated when he smugly opens jars for her, but secretly loves the fact that he can..." _

Most of the drabbles in this collection will be pretty lighthearted. It's something for me to work on when I need to unwind from the more serious pieces. It's also _bloody cold_ in the New England area right now, so I feel this is appropriate.


	2. invincible

I'm not even going to give excuses, I'm just a _terrible_ updater. Here's a little something I wrote in between studying for the IBOC...

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><p><strong>ii. invincible (or not)<strong>

It started quite innocently.

They were returning from the Wounded Coast after a long day of killing bandits and slavers - as they did at least once a month. Hawke stopped for a moment to thrust a hand out against the face of the cliff, looking slightly flushed and out of breath. It was unusual, considering Fenris knew that Hawke's body was all lean muscle underneath her curves. She was unlike the fleshy, lazy magisters of Tevinter; who would have gotten tired after an _eighth_ of the work and travel their motley group often managed.

"Are you injured?" Anders rushed to her side, anxiety all over his face. The elf gritted his teeth but stayed silent, knowing that the abomination's only merit was his gift for healing. The sun was beginning to fall in the sky, lighting the sand to fire-gold beneath their feet. He did not wish for her to spend another night outside the city. Verimensis always brought a chill to the air.

"I'm – fine," she said slowly, pulling herself straight again. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her neck. "Probably been having too much of Bodahn's cooking, that's all. We should move." Hawke smiled grimly and wiped her forehead.

Isabela laughed and slung an arm over the other woman's shoulder, pulling her close. "Don't worry sweet thing, a few pounds won't kill you." They continued on with their walk home, although Fenris periodically threw a worried glance in Asteria's direction.

* * *

><p>Two days later, they were at the Hanged Man for drinks when Hawke began coughing violently.<p>

"Sure you don't want to see Blondie about that?" Varric asked, leaning over to clap her on the back. On the other side, Fenris surreptitiously tucked the hair that had fallen loose behind her ear, fingertips lingering over the soft, heated skin beneath.

"Anders has more important things to worry about than my stupid cough," Asteria said – or growled, since her throat was congested. "His clinic always gets full around this time of year. I'll just call it an early night and have some of Orana's lovely tea." She rose to her feet, wrapping her wool cloak around her shoulders, and then paused to look back at Fenris hesitantly. "I'm sorry to drag you off, but would you come with me?"

It was one of the small things Asteria did that Fenris truly appreciated – when she _asked_, and didn't order or assume despite knowing that he would not refuse. "Of course," he replied, gathering his own dark cloak from the back of his chair. "_Someone_ must fight the mercenaries while you cough off to the side."

She scowled weakly and wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sick, Fenris. Winter in Ferelden was far worse; the weather in Kirkwall is nothing." Still, she meekly let him tighten her cloak after they stepped outside and locked her arm in his, shivering despite the flush on her cheeks.

Hightown was quiet, almost strangely so. Both human and elf couldn't help but glance about anxiously every once in a while, instinctively anticipating some sort of ambush from the rooftops or the next corner. Miraculously enough, they reached Hawke's estate unharmed. Orana opened the door before Asteria could even reach for her keys.

"Mistress? You look ill!" she fretted, quickly ushering them inside. "Do you need medicine? I think Bodahn bought some last week-"

"I'm _fine_, Orana," Asteria assured her, gently patting the elven girl on the shoulder. "I just need some sleep, and maybe a cup of your herbal tea? I'm sure it would help my throat," she smiled.

The blonde bobbed her head, "Of course Mistress, I'll bring it up to your room right away." She pattered off towards the kitchens, wringing the skirt of her dress between thin hands.

Asteria swayed on her feet as soon as the door swung closed. "Maker, I'm dizzy..." She shook her head stubbornly and made for the stairs – until suddenly, her feet were no longer touching the ground. "Wha – Fenris, I can walk by myself!"

"You are about to collapse," he retorted sternly, adjusting his hold on her. "Do you really think I would let you move about in your condition? You're clearly sick, Hawke-"

"I'm not!" she burst out, her voice breaking. "I _can't_ be, there's still a whole stack of letters to be dealt with on my desk and I've hardly gotten through a quarter of it – " Hawke wheezed mid-sentence and trembled in his arms, struggling for air. "People need my help, Fenris."

He growled, his arms tightening around her as he began climbing the stairs. "People need to do some things by themselves. You need to rest." Hawke made a soft noise and clasped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. The heat of it seared his skin. "You have a _fever_, Hawke! How long have you been hiding this?"

"...Only a few days," she murmured faintly. "Maybe a week, I don't really remember...There was so much to do, Meredith is too busy arguing with Orsino and pointing fingers to actually run the city and so of course the people turn to their _Champion_," her mouth twisted into a bitter, mocking smile.

Fenris nudged the door of her bedroom open with his foot and carried her inside, placing her carefully onto the bed. "You killed the Arishok for them," he reminded Asteria, taking her cloak and pulling a blanket over her. "You've already saved them all, you owe no debt. Sometimes taking care of yourself must take priority."

She sighed and settled against a plush pillow, finally relenting. "Stay with me until I fall asleep then?" Hawke pleaded, holding out a warm hand to him. Fenris sat at the edge of the bed and took it, entwining their fingers with a silent nod of assent.

Asteria closed her eyes and raised their hands to press them against her unscarred cheek. Fenris's hand felt good, she decided, smooth and cool. Her breath evened out within minutes as she drifted off to the Fade.

When Orana arrived with a tray, Fenris raised one finger to his mouth in warning, jerking his head in Hawke's direction. The younger elf moved noiselessly to place the tea on the bedside table and left, saving her soft smile for the scene until she was outside again.

Fenris waited until he and Hawke were alone once more to push the damp strands of hair off of her forehead and press his lips in their place. He was not Anders – his touch could not heal her, or take the fever away. All he could do was wait at her side and make certain that she would not have to suffer alone.

...He could also throw the pile of requests into her fireplace, perhaps the desk along with it.


End file.
